


The Test

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: The Ambush series [7]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Ilsa has a secret





	1. Shopping

“Are you okay, Ilsa?” Robin asked. They were sat in a corner in their favourite cafe off Wandsworth High Street. Saturday shoppers bustled past outside. They had met for shopping at Ilsa’s request, but the older woman had seemed distracted from the start, drifting around each shop, picking things up and putting them down again, not seeming to really see anything. So Robin had suggested a coffee break.

“Er...” Ilsa looked at her, then out of the window, then back again. There was a long pause. “My period’s late,” she said suddenly, quietly, looking down.

Robin’s heart leapt, but she could see that Ilsa didn’t want excited squeals at this news. “How late?” she asked cautiously.

“Really late. Like more than two weeks,” Ilsa said, and Robin could see the stab of hope in her eyes, quickly extinguished with worry.

“Have you done a test?” she asked gently.

“No,” Ilsa said. “I don’t know if I can bear to. What if it’s nothing? Or worse, something?”

Robin was confused. “I don’t understand.”

Ilsa sighed. “I wasn’t 100% honest with you in Cornwall, Robin,” she said. “I have been pregnant, once, six months ago. But I lost it really early, about six weeks. I found out I was pregnant, but Nick was away at that conference in Glasgow and I didn’t want to tell him over the phone. So I waited, but I started bleeding before he got back.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Ilsa, I’m so sorry,” said Robin, taking her hand. “You guys must have been devastated.”

“I never told him,” Ilsa said quietly.

Robin was shocked, but swallowed her reaction. “Why not?” she asked gently.

“What was the point? He’d have been so upset, and it was already gone. It was just like a really bad period, I just went to bed for a few days and then went back to work. I’ve let him down so much, I didn’t want to do this to him too.” Ilsa was crying in earnest now.

“Oh, Ilsa...” Robin dragged her chair round next to Ilsa’s and put an arm round her shoulders, hugging her tight. They sat this way for a few minutes until Ilsa regained her composure a little.

“Look,” said Robin softly, “I thought a lot about what you told me in Cornwall. Well, about the way you said it. Ilsa, it sounds silly to say, but you do know none of this is your fault?”

“Of course I do,” said Ilsa, sniffing and wiping her nose on her napkin.

“Then why do you feel like you’re letting people down, letting your mum down and Nick?” Robin asked her as gently as she could. “This is happening to you, too, maybe even more so than them. You want to be pregnant just as much as they want you to be. You’ve had to go through a miscarriage. You need to be able to be upset and to grieve too. If you feel you’re letting people down, are you feeling guilty in some way, even though it’s not your fault?”

Ilsa thought for a moment. “I guess I am,” she said slowly. “Because it’s my body that’s not doing what it’s supposed to, I guess.”

“But that’s beyond your control,” said Robin. “And anyway, it might be doing what it should now. You won’t know for sure unless you take a test. Let’s go and get one.”

“I can’t, not here,” said Ilsa. “We only live round the corner. I know the people who work in the chemist here, I see them all the time. We’ll have to go up town.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll go while you get yourself together,” said Robin, smiling. “ClearBlue?” She grinned at Ilsa’s startled look. “What girl hasn’t had the odd scare? Shit, sorry, that was tactless. I just meant I have used one before.”

“I know, don’t worry. And thanks, Robin,” said Ilsa, smiling now.

Robin was back in five minutes, and slipped the chemist bag into Ilsa’s handbag.

“Actually, I thought I might do it now,” said Ilsa. “If you don’t mind being my moral support?”

“Not at all,” said Robin. “Go for it, I’ll wait.”

Ilsa and her handbag disappeared to the loo, and she came back with a neutral expression a few minutes later. “Well?” demanded Robin.

“I haven’t looked,” she said. “You look,” and she slid the test across the table and stared at her friend, tense.

Robin picked up the test, and her eyes filled with tears.

“You’re pregnant,” she whispered, happily. “Oh, Ilsa!”

...


	2. Biscuits

Robin arrived promptly at work as usual on Monday morning. She had insisted on going back to her flat yesterday despite Strike’s attempts to persuade her to stay. She liked the feeling of starting the week on a proper professional footing, making her way in on the Tube and fetching the coffees like she had always done. She was determined not to let things slip, and she knew Strike agreed, even when he’d rather spend another afternoon in bed. The June sun was warm and the office a little stuffy already. She bustled through to Strike’s office and grinned at him, placing his coffee on the desk next to him. He was already on the phone. Her own phone began to ring and she scampered back to her desk.

It was Corporate Guy, calling for an update. She was still pretending to temp at his office once or twice a week. There had been no email trail leading to the company leak, so he had her moving around temping for each of the directors, hoping to get a chance to look into personal laptops or phones and find private email evidence. So far she had discovered two office affairs, which she had kept to herself, but no leaked secrets.

Strike appeared at the door from his office and made for the biscuit tin. Sorry, she mouthed, realising she had forgotten to bring it through. He opened it, found it empty and stared into it in comical dismay, and she stifled a giggle and half turned away, pressing the phone to her ear.

Strike decided a walk to the shop was in order, and tied in with his new resolve to smoke at his desk less. In the hot, still summer air, the smoke hung around too much. He fetched his cigarettes from his jacket and waved them and the tin at Robin, and then hunting in his pockets realised his wallet was upstairs in his flat. Robin rolled her eyes at him, still not breaking her conversation, and fished her purse from her handbag and tossed it to him. He grinned apologetically and she swung her chair away to concentrate fully on her conversation. Strike opened the purse and looked in the notes compartment for a tenner, knowing he had one upstairs to replace it. Notes and receipts were jumbled together, and he pulled the little sheaf out.

The top receipt was for a pregnancy test.

Strike almost dropped the lot. He froze, not breathing, as Robin talked earnestly on the phone, her back to him, oblivious, discussing tactics and next steps with Corporate Guy. He stared at the receipt. Flashes of half thoughts darted around his head.

Robin’s conversation sounded as though it was coming to an end. Strike slid the receipt into his pocket, took ten pounds, shoved the rest of the jumble back into the purse and dropped the purse onto the desk. He hurried out of the door before Robin could hang up.

...


	3. Confusion

Strike paced up and down Denmark Street outside their front door, smoking and trying to collect his thoughts. Robin hadn’t said anything to him, so probably she wasn’t pregnant. But had she been different this weekend? The date on the receipt was Saturday. Was he imagining it in hindsight, or had she seemed happy about nothing in particular? He had caught her a couple of times smiling to herself, but he’d thought nothing of it until now. If she was pregnant, why wasn’t she telling him? In fact, even if she had just thought she was, enough to buy a test, why hadn’t she said anything? He was surprised to note a small needle of pain at this thought, that she might not want to talk to him about it.

He was self-aware enough to acknowledge that Charlotte had a part to play here too, that the baby she claimed she had lost, that might not have been his or even existed, was in the back of his mind. He would never know what had truly happened there. He had never particularly wanted children. Charlotte’s announcement that she was pregnant had evoked a confusion of feeling within him, mostly negative. If there was a baby, then he would do his best to play whatever role she would allow him. But his dismay at realising that he would now be tied to her for many years to come had been part of what had made him truly realise they were over, and his thought that she would now have the ultimate bargaining chip, when he looked back now with a more rational view, should have made him realise sooner that he didn’t even like her that much any more.

But this, this was totally different. This was Robin, who he acknowledged would make an amazing mum. He had always assumed she and Matthew would have a family, but had never discussed children with her within their new relationship. He realised he’d assumed that children featured in her long-term plans. Would she want a baby yet, though? She had been starting to talk about finishing her degree when they could spare her the hours. How would they even juggle a baby and the business?

He shook his head. She probably wasn’t even pregnant. Just because she had bought a test didn’t mean it was positive. But he felt shut out, excluded, because she hadn’t come to him, wasn’t discussing it with him. It reminded him of how he’d felt when it was Charlotte, that this was somehow something that he was on the outside of, women’s business. He was surprised that Robin should make him feel this way, and it hurt.

Too many factors, too many possibilities. Strike couldn’t think about them all at once. He would have to wait until Robin said something.

He sighed, and trudged off to buy biscuits.

...

In the office, Robin texted Ilsa. “Did you tell him yet? xx”

“No! His bloody mum came for a surprise visit and stayed all weekend! Had to pretend I had a migraine and had taken meds to explain why no wine, lol xx”

“You have to tell him! xx”

“Tonight xx and I know it doesn’t need saying, but not a word to Corm, please. Feel bad enough you know before Nick xx”

“Course xx”

...

It was hard to keep his mind on the job, suddenly. Strike found he was watching Robin, second-guessing everything. Was she going to the loo more than usual? Did she look tired? As far as he could tell, she was the same as ever, but maybe it was just too soon for any symptoms.

Robin was becoming hyperaware of her partner’s scrutiny. He was different all of a sudden, moody and monosyllabic and staring at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She tried to recall anything that had happened over the weekend, but everything had been normal yesterday. At first she was impatient, but she could see how truly distracted he was and she started to worry. When she asked what his evening plans were, he muttered about meeting Shanker for a pint, and she had the sense that he was lying, but why? So she went back to her flat and pondered.

...

“Still not told him! Silly sod went out after work and came home pissed. Didn’t want to tell him then and he was like a bear with a sore head this morning - probably literally, lol. Tonight xx”

...

Robin arrived in the office, surprised to find herself a little nervous. A dreadful thought had occurred to her last night as she lay in bed. What if Strike was starting to doubt the wisdom of working and sleeping together? She had been so sure of his feelings for her, but she also knew how dedicated to the business he was. He had said he’d had reservations, before Ilsa’s ambush had brought them together. He had given up Charlotte when she made him choose. I would never ask him to choose, she thought. He knows that. But he’s so distracted. Is he finding it hard to combine the two, wishing they were separate?

What would I do, if I had to choose, she wondered. I love this job, the work we do, the business we’ve built. Would I go and get a job somewhere else, so I could keep him? He’d have to get another business partner. The thought hurt her heart. Surely he wouldn’t make her choose. A little ball of worry and misery churned around in her stomach. She hadn’t slept well.

She was different today, Strike thought. She didn’t finish her coffee, didn’t have a biscuit. Was she feeling sick? She looked tired, too. Shit. Why wasn’t she telling him?

On this third cigarette break of the morning, distracted still and wound up with too much caffeine, he suddenly wondered if there was an angle he was missing. What if she had decided on a termination? Perhaps she was never planning on telling him. Perhaps it was booked. Why did that thought bother him so much? Did he want her to confide in him, let him stand by her through whatever she chose? Of course. But was it more than that? A sudden image of a child (boy, girl?) with red-gold curls and blue-grey eyes floated into his mind. Did he want her to keep it?

...

“Shit, Rob, I’m bleeding. Just a tiny bit. Can’t ring, am in the loos at court. Dashed out to make quick call to the doc, scan Thursday 10am at Kings. Can you come? Can’t face telling Nick if it’s going tits up again. xx”

“Of course I will. Ilsa, please tell him, he’d want to be there for you. But yes, will clear my schedule. Hope you’re doing ok xx”

...

She was withdrawn now, looked worried, her face tight, her lips pressed together. Strike paced his office till his knee hurt, and then stamped off angrily to tail Redhead - of all the stupid bloody waste of time assignments this was turning out to be - and buy painkillers. Redhead clearly wasn’t seeing anyone else, just having a good time. He suspected the husband just liked keeping tabs on her, but it was boring. Yoga and coffee overran, and when he got back to the office Robin was gone, and hadn’t texted him.

Robin was cross with Strike now. Clearly something was up and he wasn’t discussing it, just stamping about in a foul mood and making his leg sore, she could see him limping. Well, let him. She was too worried about Ilsa, she’d deal with him later. In the meantime, a bit more of a professional distance would probably help if that was what he was worried about. I guess the honeymoon period is over, she thought, wistfully.


	4. We need to talk

Robin arrived at the office on Wednesday morning to find the door locked and Strike absent, and was surprised. She paused, listening, but could hear no movement overhead to suggest he was in his flat. She went to put his coffee on his desk, saw the half-empty whisky bottle, the empty glass, the overflowing ashtray. Ah.

She went back to her own desk and fired up the computer. She checked his schedule. Nothing that couldn’t be cleared. She rang and cancelled his 10am meeting, and decided Redhead could do her yoga today without a burly detective sitting in the cafe over the road. Robin had to spend the afternoon working for Corporate Guy.

She texted Ilsa. “Any change? Xx”

“Think it’s stopped. Going for scan anyway tomoz though. You still free if I bottle it and don’t tell him tonight? xx”

“Course xx”

Robin put the office paracetamol, a bottle of water from the fridge and Strike’s coffee on a tray and marched up to his flat and let herself in.

Strike was passed out fully dressed, sprawled on his front on his bed, prosthesis still attached. The room reeked of whisky. She had expected to feel angry, but suddenly all she felt was a rush of affection for her big, complicated, silly man. Whatever was bothering him, he was obviously quite upset about it to have got himself into this state. She skirted the bed quietly to open the skylight window and let some air in, and put coffee, water and pills on his bedside table. She paused, looking down at him, and bent over to run her fingers through his curly hair. She pressed a kiss to his clammy cheek and he muttered in his sleep. She smiled at him. “I love you, you big idiot,” she whispered, and quietly left.

...

On impulse, Robin popped back to Denmark Street after finishing at Corporate Guy’s offices. Strike was at his desk, looking a little the worse for wear still, but he had at least showered and changed, and smelled rather better. She smiled at him and he looked shamefaced.

“Thanks,” he muttered, looking down.

Robin waited, but he didn’t say anything more. She felt a flash of irritation again. She’d come all the way back to the office in a mood of reconciliation, hoping he was ready to talk now, but he was still monosyllabic. Fine.

“I’ll be in late tomorrow,” she said briskly. He looked up sharply, pinning her with a stare. “Why?”

“Er, doctor appointment. Smear test, if you must know,” she said, and he felt sure she was lying. He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair, looked at her, looked away, looked back again. He had hoped she would come to him of her own accord, but she clearly wasn’t going to, and he had things he wanted to say, wanted her to hear, before she went through with it. “We need to talk,” he said, heavily.

Robin felt a lurch of fear in her stomach. Her hands shook. There was only one thing “we need to talk” meant, and it wasn’t good. Panic crawled though her. He was going to finish their relationship. Tears pricked in her eyes and she fought them furiously. She had been pinning her hopes on him loving her enough not to do this, but she knew his iron resolve when it came to the business. Whatever happens, I will not beg, she thought, hoped. I will make rational arguments and prove to him he’s wrong.

Strike reached into his pocket, took out the receipt and laid it on the desk in front of him. She stared at it, uncomprehending.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A receipt. For a pregnancy test. It was in your purse.”

“When did you...? Ah. Oh.” Robin felt as though the rug had been pulled from under her. What was going on?

“Were you going to tell me?” he looked straight at her, those fierce eyes piercing hers. Shit, how could she get out of this without being disloyal to Ilsa? And if he thought she was pregnant, why was he dumping her? She blinked at him. Nothing made sense.

“I, er, don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her eyes sliding away from his. God, she hated lying to him. He could see right through her anyway. He stood up, came round the desk to look into her face. She held her ground, trembling.

“Until after you’ve dealt with it, you mean?” he said, harshly, and they were both shocked to hear the unsteadiness in his voice. “Don’t you think I have a right to know, a right to stand by you whatever you choose, a right to at least say if I want... if I want you to keep it?” To Strike’s horror, his voice cracked, and he turned away, suddenly afraid he might cry, something he hadn’t done in years.

Stunned, Robin reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm. “Cormoran...” she said, softly. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn towards her, either. They stood, frozen, the atmosphere stretched thin.

The ping of Robin’s phone broke the silence, and she almost jumped out of her skin. She snatched it from her pocket. It was Ilsa.

“Told him! All of it. Tears all round. He’s coming with me tomorrow. Thank you so much for this week, don’t know what I’d have done without you. Will keep you posted xx”

Robin burst into tears.

...


	5. Resolution

“Okay. Okay.” Robin said. “Cormoran, what do you think is going on here?”

She had taken a minute, gone back to her half of the office, wiped her eyes, and returned to find him waiting, eerily calm, expression carefully neutral, closed off. He said nothing.

“Okay, let’s try a different tack. Did you look at the receipt properly?” she asked. “I bought that pregnancy test in Wandsworth. For Ilsa. I couldn’t say anything because she hadn’t told Nick yet and she swore me to secrecy.”

Strike stared at her. “Ilsa’s pregnant?” he said. “Ilsa?”

“Yes, Cormoran. Ilsa. Not me.”

“But...” he said. “So what’s your appointment tomorrow?”

“Imaginary,” she smiled. “Ilsa has an early scan because she was bleeding. I was going with her, but she’s finally told Nick so now he is. That text was from her.”

Strike ran a hand through his hair again, going back over this week in his mind, rearranging pieces that had seemed to fit one way, but now fit another...

Then she was glaring at him, “So what the actual fuck, Cormoran Strike, has been going on with you this week? I’ve been terrified, I thought you were changing your mind about us working together and having a relationship. I thought...” - tears in her eyes again - “I thought you were going to end things between us.”

Strike stared at her in shock. “Christ, no. Why would you even think that?” he demanded.

“Because you’ve been horrible!” she wailed. “You’ve been a grumpy bastard, you’ve ignored me and avoided me, you went on one of your drinking benders. What was I supposed to think?”

He crossed the room to her in two strides and wrapped his arms around her. Tears spilled down her cheeks at the familiar, warm smell of him. She buried her face in his chest. “God, I’m sorry, Robin,” he said. “I was trying to give you space to tell me in your own time that you were pregnant, but when you didn’t...”

“Because I’m not,” she sniffled.

“No, which I accept is a perfectly adequate reason for not telling me,” he said, and she giggled through her tears. “Jesus, Robin, I thought you were going to end the pregnancy without telling me, and I was really hurt because you weren’t confiding in me, talking to me about it.”

He paused. “And...” he sighed. “I was confused. I’ve never wanted children, Robin, but I... I didn’t want you to have a termination.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Have you changed your mind, then? About children?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe, if it was with you...” he stopped. “I don’t know, Robin,” he said, helplessly.

She sighed. “Well, firstly, that’s not something we have to decide for a long time yet,” she said. “We have a detective agency empire to build first.”

“And secondly, I would never make a decision like that without discussing it with you, you idiot,” she said, exasperated. “What kind of relationship do you think we have here? I’d tell you if I thought I might be pregnant, I promise. And by the way, thirdly, that was a truly crap bit of detective work. Since when have you ever jumped to the most obvious conclusion and run with it? That’s exactly what you don’t do!”

Strike laughed, suddenly flooded with relief. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I was entirely thinking straight.” he said. “To be fair, I could tell something was up. You definitely had a secret.”

“Yes, it just wasn’t mine to tell,” she said. “Oh, I hope it goes well for them tomorrow.”

She sighed and hugged him tighter. “What a weird week,” she said. “Pub or bed, do you reckon?”

He grinned at her. “Both, in that order!”

...


End file.
